In the Dawn of Morning
by broken time
Summary: Life is like a series of snapshots, and sometimes the most endearing moments are the most everyday. //Kyouya x Haruhi x Mori//
1. Snapshots

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Host Club and all that jazz.  
**Notes:** Dawn is being written as a mostly snapshot-styled fic. That is to say that it reads like a long series of drabbles and flashfic rather than your typical novel. It's just somewhat ended up being that way (with probably episodes of longer scenes mixed with shorter ones), and I actually like the feel it gives to the story when I write it like this. Sorry for the oddity of it all. :) Also, the chapters will probably often be fairly short due to this exact reason, but maybe I'll actually update more because I don't feel like I have to write as much. One can hope, right? 

_The following are not in order of happenstance. They're little snapshots of graduation for these three (and a half)._

* * *

**In the Dawn of Morning**  
_Ootori Kyouya & Fujioka Haruhi & Morinozuka Takashi_

»»»  
**Chapter One**  
_Snapshots_  
»»»

Kyouya is not a sentimental man, and so he rides to school in silence.

He reads the paper, browsing for anything of interest. As usual, he finds several things – all in the financial section.

The world is normal to him, and graduation is nothing more than an irritant in his daily life.

Even as his speech rings out to cheers and tears and laughter, he stands and thinks, _The restaurant needs to be remodeled and the staff retrained. With a bit of hard work and time, it should be able to reopen and do sixteen-point-three percent better quarterly._

» » »

Haruhi is not a sentimental girl, and so she walks to school without a spring in her step.

She walks like she always has, calm and unhurried, with plenty of time on her side. She is in no danger of being late, and she prefers to have this leisurely time before the rush to sales after school ends.

The world is normal to her, and graduation is nothing more than another checkpoint in her life.

Even as the speeches ring out to cheers and tears and laughter, she stands and thinks, _We're out of celery. I should have bought some at the sale last weekend._

» » »

Mori is a quietly sentimental man, and so he walks to school with Honey riding sadly on his shoulder.

He listens to memories and reminiscing, to the sad lament of how I wish we didn't have to graduate before everyone, and we only met Haruhi this year. And sometimes, he says something too.

The world is far from normal to them, and graduation will tear them from their closest friends.

Even as the speeches ring out to cheers and tears and laughter, the host club gathers in their room, drinks to a toast, and Mori thinks, _I will miss this._


	2. Distance

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Host Club & all that jazz.  
**Comments/Notes:** This story has, in general, a life of its own. The style may widely vary, though I am trying to keep it into the "snapshot" style of story-writing. It's a test of sorts, I suppose.  
**Chapter Edit:** Complete 2/15/07.

»»»  
**Chapter Two**  
_Distance_  
»»»

When she first stood in front of her new apartment's door, Haruhi did not expect familiar faces waiting for her.

She supposed she should have known; Kyouya's family had, after all, paid for her scholarship. Oh, it had been hidden under all the pretty words, but she was – in essence – sponsored. Sponsored into her new apartment, sponsored into her new school (which, she had been reassured, would have been no trouble for her to get into), and sponsored into life in general, she could only be thankful they didn't offer her a job to get through college.

Her father was against it, of course; he liked Kyouya well enough, but he worried for his poor daughter living so far away. You can come with me, she'd pointed out, but he would hear nothing of it. _After all, if you ever get tired, I will still be here_.

And so for that first week while she tried desperately to tackle the fast pace of a university and hunted the streets and listings for a job, her apartment turned into some sort of constant sleepover party. Honey camped out on her living room floor and Mori fell asleep in her chair; Kyouya would kick Tamaki and the twins out before she came home; and there was always that night or two where they kept her up all night.

Then it changed.

Tamaki called each day, but the twins would call twice a week. Once a week. Once a month. Honey never called at all, but occasionally stopped by with Mori trailing behind. Kyouya lived next door, yet she never saw him at all.

A year passed, two flew, and friendships became something that she thought about only occasionally.

Haruhi worked at a local convenience store while taking extra classes at school. She was home in time to sleep and call her father (_I'm still here; if you ever get tired, you can come home_), and perhaps read the first few pages of an assignment.

Maybe she was hardly any sort of social butterfly, but she certainly didn't feel cheated by her devotion to study, work, and the cash flow to keep her life going. She didn't need parties or friends. She'd gone on well enough without them before, and the ones she had now were - well, they were still her friends. Never around, perhaps, but still friends.

She debated, argued, studied. She looked up interesting cases, pondered what she would have done different. Thought of things like ethics and morals and how much money she would make when she passed all the exams and became a lawyer. Her father would be able to relax and stay at home if he wanted. They would be able to eat more than rice and fish and miso soup on a daily basis.

And so she continued to work, and it was like the host club never existed at all. She moved from the convenience store to a bigger grocery store, with bigger pay. Her studies grew more intense, her courses a little harder.

Time passed with few phone calls and no visits.

» » »

"Fujioka, can you get the spill in aisle three?"

Haruhi jerked in surprise, startled out of her half-doze. "Sure."

He looked at her sympathetically. "Another long day, is it?"

"No, not really." She started to reach for the mop, then hesitated. "I have a few final exams in a couple weeks."

"I know." He patted her shoulder kindly. "Come in when you can. You're wasted on this store, anyway; a future lawyer working in a grocery store? You should set your sights a little higher than this place, you know?"

"Yes, but—"

"I know, I know. You'll be working at that high-up fancy corporation when you graduate, yeah? Contracts." He shook his head. "I never want to sign up for something like that. What if I don't like it in three years? Hah. But you, you're doing good, girl." Another friendly pat before he walked away.

She watched him go in faint surprise. The thought of "not liking" law in three years had never occurred to her.


	3. Reunion

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Host Club and all that jazz.  
**Comments: **Re-distributing the chapters to make more sense.  
**Chapter Edit:** Complete 2/15/07.

»»»  
**Chapter Three**  
_Reunion_  
»»»

_Three years later._

"Divide and conquer, huh? You always manage to get it in the end, don't you, Ootori?"

The face he didn't recognize came with those cheerfully spoken bitter words and a brisk handshake. Kyouya adjusted his glasses absently and smiled in a way that could almost be considered feral. "Yes, we do, don't we? If you'll excuse me."

A bit of hesitation in that smile now, and a wary nod. "Yes. Yes, of course."

And there it was, his talent at cutting short long and meaningless conversation with meaningless people. Briefcase in hand, Kyouya walked out of the conference room with a surprisingly light step. Another success, another day, yet nothing close to being just _any_ day.

He answered the phone on the first ring, unsurprised at the unerring timing. "Father."

"You missed the arranged meeting."

"I am fully aware of that, and I extended my apologies to the lady's family earlier." He nodded politely to the others waiting for the elevator.

"If you want to be put in charge of things, you need to have an image. We don't need successful bachelor; we need successful family man with a beautiful and competent _wife_."

Kyouya could hear his father's fist slam against the table, and his lips curved faintly. Everything was moving perfectly in accordance with his calculations. "So as long as she's beautiful and competent, it doesn't matter?"

"You aren't playing around next time," his father warned angrily, brushing off the question. "You've brought enough humiliation to this household with that… _lover_ of yours."

"I thought you approved of the Morinozuka family?"

"I don't approve of bribing the press to stop from printing a story about my youngest son behaving indiscreetly in the backseat with his male lover." His words came coldly precise. "You will settle down with a nice lady."

Kyouya felt his second phone vibrate gently against his leg, and pulled it out swiftly, glancing at the screen. He smiled. "Well, father, I suppose you will be happy to hear that I've decided to take your advice."

Silence. Then, "And what advice is that?"

"It seems I will be a bit busy with my wedding preparations. Do tell mother the good news, will you? I need to convince the bride before I bring her home."

» » »

When Haruhi opened her door, she expected something like her sweet but elderly neighbor, looking for his cat that always ran away on Friday nights - which, in odd coincidence, also worked out to be the cat's bath night. She did _not_, however, expect Kyouya to be standing there dressed like he was going to a dinner party (he probably was) and smiling at her expectantly.

Shivers of apprehension ran down her spine; she'd never felt comfortable around his smile. "…Yes?"

"Get dressed. We're going out."

"Excuse me?"

He looked her over, brows arching and falling in his inspection, then handed her an elegant white box. "Put that on, will you? Your fashion sense hasn't changed at all. And hurry. The car's idling."

She couldn't recall him ever saying please, which was at least consistent between then and now, and remembered vividly why she hadn't ever picked up the phone to call him. "Are you serious?"

"You're not hurrying, Haruhi."

» » »

She sat almost primly on the edge of her seat; impassive, faintly curious and, without saying a word, radiating a very firm aura of disapproval. Mori sat like a rock, staring politely ahead while Kyouya disappeared somewhere without even the slightest warning nearly the moment he'd dragged her into the restaurant.

Thirty minutes ago.

"Mori-senpai." Haruhi gave in and rested her forearms lightly against the table, keeping her voice low out of respect of the other patrons in the restaurant. "What is all this about?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She leaned a little closer. "You know, don't you?"

Mori hesitated, wishing Kyouya had not left him alone here. "It is... a matter of great importance involving Kyouya's future in his family." He delivered the line as practiced earlier.

Haruhi stared at him dubiously, suspicion scrawled all across her face. "Did he tell you to say that?"

No response.

She leaned back with a sigh. "There's not much I can do. I'm still going through school, and trying to pay back the scholarship Kyouya-senpai's family lent--" Pause. "This isn't about the loan, is it? I've been paying on time..."

He shook his head.

"Oh." Then she stared. "Don't say he wants me to go back to law--"

Another shake, this time a bit more vigorously.

"Then what--?"

"It's very simple, actually."

Haruhi glanced behind her, completely unperturbed by Kyouya speaking without the slightest warning of his presence. She did, however, feel a bit perturbed when she saw his briefcase. Was this about the loan after all?

"Your father's bar is having troubles, I hear?" He was perfectly friendly, opening up casual (casual?) conversation. Well, perhaps it was casual to him - but why, oh why, would he know the details of her father's financial situation?

She scooted a little further off her chair, wondering if she should run. Far. Really, really fast. "It's had better times," she agreed guardedly.

"I see." He settled into his chair, brought out the laptop. A few clicks later he began to speak again. "You've only paid off how much of your loan?"

Haruhi shifted uncomfortably. "I've been paying on time."

"At the rate of fifty dollars a month?"

"No," she corrected. "I've been paying one hundred since April."

Kyouya looked at her curiously. "And how do you manage to pay your bills for school?"

Her lips compressed slightly. "More importantly, what did you bring me here for? I don't think this is a happy we-haven't-seen-each-other-in-four-years get-together."

"This _is _why I brought you here." Another click, a few taps. "Your father took out a loan... to pay for culinary school?"

She half-shrugged, and frowned at Mori - who was, in fact, doing a rather remarkable impression of a bump on a log. In a suit.

"So, in essence, you are swimming in debt?"

Haruhi frowned again, disliking - really, _really_ disliking - the general direction of this conversation. "Is there a point to this? I believe you've all been fairly aware that my financial status is hardly anything like yours."

He finally closed the laptop (she breathed a silent sigh of relief) and rested his elbows against the table, looking at her seriously. "You're in a bit of trouble, Haruhi."

"I'm up for a raise soon--" she began.

"But it still doesn't cut the monthly payments, does it?" Kyouya motioned for a waiter, and she snapped her mouth closed.

Waiting until their glasses were filled with wine (Haruhi politely declined), he asked, "How would you like a job, Haruhi?"

Her brows snapped together immediately. "I'm not in the market for charity, and I'm sure you are perfectly aware of that."

"Yes. You mentioned something of the sort when we offered to transfer the scholarship to your new school." _And now look where are you are_ went politely unspoken.

"We're doing fine." She spoke calmly now, raising her little chin stubbornly. "I'm up for a raise, and my classes have been going well."

"Yes, you've always been a good _cook_." He emphasized the word, and she frowned.

"Everyone starts from the bottom. I don't mind that."

"Are you saying that you would turn down a job if they offered you a higher position?"

"Of course not," she replied with a sigh. "That's completely different."

"It's what we're offering," he pointed out reasonably.

"You never mentioned anything about a job you're offering."

"Ah, right." He smiled blandly, and warning shivers ran down her spine once again. Why had she opened that stupid door? "A roof over your head, for you and your father. It's in quite a nice area of town, really. Utilities all paid for, and three square meals a day."

She interjected calmly, "It sounds like you're trying to keep a pet."

Kyouya frowned at her. "The pay will be four times your current salary. It is," and he rode roughshod over the complaints she wanted to voice, "quite reasonable for the position. In fact, I've never paid a salary that low."

She snapped her mouth shut at that and grudgingly listened.

"The job entails cleaning, cooking, and general housekeeping. Occasionally you will act as a hostess at dinner parties, and perhaps you will be asked to attend an occasional event. You will have plenty of time for your studies, and your debt accrued in high school will, of course, be forgiven."

"Wait, wait, wait." Haruhi frowned. "I thought the debt was done away with at graduation?"

"No. We simply never discussed it." He leaned forward with one of his business smiles, scaring the wits out of her. "So you can either have another payment on your plate - I would say at least one-fifty a month, minimum - or you can take the job."

"What about my father?"

"His debts will be written off and his bar will be in little danger of closing. He has, of course, already agreed to this arrangement." _And the price of his agreement was high, but certainly able to be met._

"He has?" She was startled at that.

"Indeed." He steepled his fingers. "Your answer?"

"Well, I would like some time--" she stalled.

"If you don't say yes in the next five seconds, all these offers will - of course - be rescinded."

"Five seconds? That's hardly reasonable--"

"One."

"Yes," she blurted.

"And you will perform your duties with no questions asked?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Wonderful." This time he pulled a few papers from his briefcase, and slid them over to her side of the table. "If you could just sign these, then."

Haruhi picked them up slowly. Then stared, blinked, rubbed her eyes, and laughed weakly. "Um. Kyouya-senpai?"

"Yes?"

"These are... marriage registration papers."

"Yes. Your point being?"

» » »

There are two things that never change in the Fujioka household. One is that Haruhi, being Haruhi, never _storms_ into the house. The second is that Haruhi, being Haruhi, never yells.

_Ever._

So when Haruhi stormed in the house (read: cramped apartment building) at three in the morning and yelled, "Dad!" at the top of her lungs, he didn't yell back. That, of course, would have been practically fatherly suicide. He also _did not _cower in his closet, though that was the first temptation.

He sat calmly at the table sipping tea and pretending like he didn't know what she was angry about, instead.

"You _sold_ me?!"

"Sold is such a harsh word, Haruhi-chan." Putting on his most wounded face, he explained, "I was simply doing as all good mothers do." _Mother? _"I worked out a marriage in your favor. It's quite the match, too, if I do say so myself." He sighed and fluttered his eyes. "He's pretty cute. Quite the catch."

"So you _sold_ me?"

"Darling, sold is such a—"

"You _sold_ me to be his glorified housekeeper?" Haruhi continued in a tone that he could almost call dangerous.

"Really, sweetheart, being a wife is really not all that bad—"

"You _sold_ me to pay off the loan on the bar?"

"…and college. And for a new car. Two of them. And lessons to learn how to drive." He admitted these meekly.

"Daddy, you... are you serious?"

"Did I mention the prenup?"

» » »

"Darling, are you sure this is wise?"

Kyouya smiled faintly. "She'll make a wonderful wife, mother. I am sure you will love her."

"I wasn't talking to you, Kyouya." His mother dismissed him easily. "Takashi, darling, are you sure you're all right with this?"

Glancing up from the pictures in his hand, helpfully provided by the various agents Kyouya had placed to watch over Haruhi for the past four years, Mori nodded shortly. "We have planned this for a long time, Mother."

"Planned?" She blinked in surprise. "What do you mean, planned?" Narrowing her eyes at her son, she added, "For how long? And I want the truth."

"Ever since we found out she was politely herded out of law school for her idealistic views," Kyouya replied blandly. "It worked out quite well, really. All we had to do was wait, and their financial situation would self-destruct."

She paused. "You… let her fall into such a stressful lifestyle, Kyouya dear?"

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" He swiveled away from his computer, frowning slightly. "Takashi had the hardest time coping with it."

A slight, short nod followed his statement. Kyouya's mother felt her poor heart softening for the boy. "Oh my. So that was the cause of your big fight?"

"And the resulting sordid makeup in his car? Yes." Kyouya smiled sardonically as she gave a polite little cough.

"Well, darling." She hesitated, uncertain of how to word her bit of wisdom. Fond of her son though she was (and she really was), he needed to learn a few things. He'd been spoiled, in her opinion, by his rather smooth relationship with Takashi (such a dear, that boy). It had begun, she assumed, in a rather turbulent fashion - all the manga she read (and she read a lot, trying to catch up on the ins and outs of her son's new lifestyle) implied such a beginning - but now it was the most perfect relationship she had ever witnessed, which had her waiting for the eventual problems to erupt.

Yet this girl - and their relationship with her - she could put on the right foot from the beginning. Why, it was her motherly duty. And a wonderful one, too, even if she said so herself.

"Just remember to quote her poetry, will you, darling?"


	4. Unspoken, Understood

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Host Club & etc.  
**Chapter Edit:** Complete 2/15/07.

»»»**  
Chapter Four**  
_Unspoken, Understood_  
»»»

Haruhi opened her door warily, yesterday's events still fresh in her mind, it being only a matter of hours later with no sleep to fill her night. Her eyes landed on Mori, standing patiently on the other side and giving her a rather curious look - probably because she was peeking so timidly.

She slammed the door.

The knocks came again, one-two-three, quick and staccato and firm. Guilt curled around her (though why _she_ should be the one to feel guilty, she couldn't quite explain) and Haruhi opened it again, frowning. "It's four in the morning, Mori-senpai."

He nodded, perfectly aware of that fact.

"_Usually_, people are sleeping right now," she pointed out, leaning against the side of the door.

He nodded again, infinitely patient.

Haruhi wondered, exactly, who was supposed to be the one acting patient here. After all, wasn't _he _imposing on _her_? Then again, the host club had rarely (if ever) gone through life adhering to the general and common-sensical rules of everyday life and really, she couldn't quite remember even one time that they did, so should she even be wasting energy thinking about it?

Probably not.

"Did you need something?" she asked then, giving up in a most casual manner.

He hesitated, looking almost wary, but answered simply, "I thought you couldn't sleep well."

The airy retort of _Actually I sleep just fine, thank you_ sprang to her mind (her overly guilty-for-no-reason conscience decided to nip that in the bud), and Haruhi shrugged uncomfortably. "There's been a lot to think about."

Mori held out his hand then with a hopeful air with a facial expression that looked no different from usual, and she sighed, interpreting the movement without thinking about it. "It's four in the morning, Mori-senpai. Isn't it a little weird to go for a walk at this time of morning?"

He continued to hold out his hand, and even though he stood like a statue, Haruhi could swear he was being rather insistent about it. "All right, all right. Let me get dressed, okay?" Then, as his eyes drifted over her again, she frowned. "These are my pajamas, Mori-senpai."

She could swear she saw the light dawn in his eyes, and wondered - exactly - what kind of pajamas he was used to seeing. Haruhi had rather thought flannel pink with kittens was quite normal - her father bought her a new pair every year. Then there was the blue, and the green, and the ones with the penguins and the ones with puppies and that one that had talking stars. Not that they actually talked, but they did have speech bubbles coming out from one of their pointy appendages - or whatever you called the pointy parts on a star. "One minute, okay? I'll be right back out."

Mori let his hand drop to his side and adopted an aura that said _I'm waiting patiently_.

Some part of her wondered when she'd learned to speak Mori-nese. The other part wondered why she was going along with him.

» » »

Being singularly oblivious to things like protecting her body from perverts despite all the time she had spent with a significant number of them, Haruhi didn't pull her hand away in shock or anger or nervous fear when Mori tucked it into his jacket pocket, warmly grasped by his. She also didn't snuggle up closer or bat her mooning eyes at him, like the rest of her generation of female typically would.

Instead she reacted more like a little kid and did nothing at all, simply appreciating the extra warmth her frigid fingers craved.

Their breath made little white puffs in the air, and she remembered that, yes, it was closing in on winter. "Did your father let you go get into that architectural school?" she asked curiously.

His passion for all things involving blueprints was a secret only Honey had known, until Mori had graduated and been forced into law. Then, when professors had complained of his taciturn nature and lack of debating during his turn of debates (therefore losing every debate he'd entered), his father had pushed him into the medical field (his lack of sensitivity, those professors claimed, scared even the doctors). Somehow unsurprisingly, Honey had been with him in each school (in law, they'd been frustrated by his crying in the middle of a debate; in medicine, his absolute desire to give the patients what they asked for), until finally taking a job in a lowly confectionary. Then, and only then, had Mori decided to tell his father what he wanted to do in life.

Haruhi had graduated from Ouran around then, and last she knew the father and son had been vigorously arguing over the entire idea.

Mori shook his head to her question, and she frowned. "Why was he against it?"

He seemed to think for a moment, as though struggling to find the right words, and finally answered, "Mitsukuni."

Haruhi went silent, nodding slightly in understanding. Even be it in a confectionary, Mori's father would want him to be with the Haninozuka heir. "So, what are you doing now?"

"Architecture."

Pause. "I thought your father was against it?"

"He is." Mori abruptly pulled her to a stop, frowning. "You are shivering."

Haruhi raised her brows. "It's four thirty in the morning, in the beginning of winter."

He tugged at her jacket, quietly inspecting it and apparently discarding it in his mind as he pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"Mori-senpai, you--"

"I'm fine," he replied simply, and took her hand in his before walking again, apparently untroubled by the chill air and colder breeze.

Haruhi remained silent, oddly touched by his gesture. She bit her lip to keep a giggle from escaping (she rarely giggled), and struggled to remain on-topic, instead. "So how are you working in architecture?"

"Kyouya," he responded briefly, a faint smile touching at his lips before flitting away.

Her own lips curved into a faint frown at the name. "I was wondering before, but - why, exactly, did he bring you into this?" Mori glanced down at her curiously, and she clarified, "This... job." She couldn't quite bring herself to calling it a marriage (because, _it's not_) and stumbled a little over calling it work. "You didn't say much last night."

Haruhi could almost hear the silent _ah_ that would never escape his lips. "Dating," he replied almost shortly, and she spied the faint flush coloring his cheekbones.

She half-tripped over an innocent little crack in the sidewalk. "You're _what_?"

"Two years today." Pause. "Yesterday."

"So you let him... propose... to me, on your anniversary?" she asked faintly, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the two unlikely (yet oddly compatible) men were 'dating'. Dating was filled with things like milkshakes in the summer, holding hands in the winter, and giggling over a table in a hamburger shop. Kyouya didn't do things like date. He came, he conquered, he left with the goods. She could not - absolutely could _not_ - imagine him _dating_. (Of course, her experience with dating was little, or more accurately nil - but even she'd heard the stories from her classmates, who giggled and gossiped behind her.)

"It was my idea," he replied, sounding faintly surprised at _her_ surprise.

» » »

Kyouya woke with great reluctance, realizing almost immediately that it was _far too damn early_ a.m. and his phone wasn't ringing.

It took him a moment, however, to realize that he was completely warm and the only thing weighing down the bed was his body and the blankets thoughtfully tucked neatly around it.

"Takashi?"

» » »

_So._

Haruhi looked up at the sky, wondering if she should feel really awkward about sitting on Mori's lap. It wasn't that she was worried about being mistaken for his lover (the thought never occurred to her) or being forced into an even more awkward situation (her brain didn't quite register dangers like those) or imposing on his manly sensibilities by making him sit on the cold, wet ground (though this was a little closer to what she was thinking).

No; she was worried about his slacks - expensive ones, she was sure - that would end up with lovely grass stains. Would the detergent she had at home take care of them? He'd ignored her reasoning when he sat down, and silently pointed out (she wasn't quite sure how she figured _that _out) that she was a girl, and girls shouldn't have to sit in the wet grass.

Then again, they didn't _need_ to sit down at all, and could have just crouched instead--

Her quite practical and rather out-of-place thoughts were interrupted by a long, wet, probably dirty and definitely stinky tongue running over her chin. Haruhi frowned down at the puppy, its tail wagging with ferocious delight and eyes shining with hope and immediate adoration.

"Are you sure this is the one you want, Mori-senpai?" she asked dubiously. Out of the three, it seemed the biggest, the clumsiest, and definitely the dirtiest. She didn't even _see_ mud in the box, but he was absolutely covered in it.

Mori nodded - she could sense the movement - and Haruhi sighed as she tugged at a floppy ear. She was awarded by another long, saliva-dripping lick, and the other two whined and wriggled and wagged their tails hopefully as they bounded around her feet, tripped over Mori's leg, and generally acted like the adorable _please adopt me, we live in a box_ puppies they were.

"Maybe we can--"

"_Senpai_." Haruhi turned and gave him a stern look, the puppy now cuddled to her chest. "They need love and attention and time out of your life. Can you and Kyouya really even take care of _one_ more?"

Despite the truth of her words, Mori had a distinctly sulky air about him. She sighed. "I'll help you find them homes, but you don't have the time to raise three dogs. It's unfair to them, don't you think?"

He looked at them hopefully, then nodded reluctantly.

She looked at the puppies again, crawling and chewing on each other and looking so generally _happy_ that Haruhi couldn't quite blame whoever had put them in their walking path for her current situation. Though Mori had an extreme weakness for cute things, it wasn't as though it were really _bad_ to stop and give a needful puppy a home, after all.

Then again, from what she'd _heard_, Kyouya and Mori were already housing three cats and an overgrown dog.

"Are you sure he's even going to let them into the house?" she asked dubiously.

He nodded.

» » »

Kyouya absently toweled his hair dry, ignoring the kitten trying to crawl up his pant leg and the dog snuffling impatiently by his hip. He also ignored the cat curled around his neck and clinging with no intention of ever letting go.

He was very, very good at ignoring them.

A glance in the bedroom told him that no, Mori was not there. A glance in the kitchen told him that the animals had plenty of food and water and no, Mori was not there. A glance in the backyard told him that their neighbor was staring wide-eyed at the bare-chested man peeking outside and no, Mori was not there.

Finally deigning to ruffle the dog's fur and help the kitten up to his shoulder, Kyouya tossed his towel into a convenient laundry basket (they long since learned that they had to have one in every room, or clothes would be simply everywhere and clean-up would be absolute hell) and headed to the phone.

An automated voice and a few voicemails later, Mori's message finally came to light. "Letter in the kitchen," he stated briefly, and clicked off.

Kyouya gave his phone a rather incredulous stare (_If you would like to delete this message, press 7 now_, the automated voice hummed cheerfully) and stalked to the kitchen, where the very large paper he hadn't noticed was taped to the fridge.

_Out to Haruhi's. Be back after breakfast. –Takashi_

It was the most elegantly written waste of paper he had seen.

He frowned at the dog, who whined hopefully and nudged at his hip again. "Didn't I take you out when I woke up?"

Big, big doggish eyes blinked innocently. Kyouya immediately shook his head. "I am _not_ taking you for a walk. I have a meeting—"

Oh, damn. The 'W' word was strictly forbidden in their home for a reason—and that reason was streaking out of the kitchen and to the door and back excitedly, barking up a storm.

Balling up the note and tossing it into the wastebasket, he grabbed the leash in one hand and dialed Mori's number with the other.

» » »

Haruhi gave a little hop and a skip to catch up to Mori's longer stride, puffing a bit. The puppy she carried wriggled excitedly in her arms, wondering what new sort of game this was. "You don't (_pant)_ have to (_pant)_ go that fast, (_huff_) do you?"

He slowed, then stopped. "Sorry."

"No, that's (_huffhuffbreathe_) okay." She bent over to catch her breath, blinking sweat out of her eyes. They'd dashed from the corner with the puppies, up the long stairs, across the bridge, down the other side of stairs, and her endurance was already spent. "So, what's so bad about Kyouya walking the dog?"

A peek at him only told her that he was surprised by her question. Okay, so the _He's walking the dog_ didn't have such a dreaded connotation after all.

"Then what's wrong?"

Mori simply shook his head and shoved the other two wriggling fur balls into her arms without a word, and before Haruhi could squeak over the unfairness casually swept her into his arms and began walking again with that swift, easy stride.

She felt a faint blush color her cheeks and ducked her head a little with mumbled thanks. The words probably didn't reach him – the wind had been growing steadily as it approached morning, and the clouds in the sky didn't look very friendly – but she felt a little better for saying it, anyway.

And, suddenly, she thought – _He just wants to see Kyouya-senpai_.

Then another part of her answered in response to that little epiphany, _Oh._

Another lick on her chin and a mouthful of puppy breath later, Haruhi decided she really, _really_ hated getting carried, after all.

» » »

The dog was pretty much dragging Kyouya around the park – that much was certain – but other than that, Haruhi thought the scene was pretty normal - if they were normal kinds of people, which they actually weren't.

She sat on a helpful bench, belatedly realizing that the sun was partially risen and she still hadn't slept at all, as Kyouya spotted them. Apparently the dog noticed them, too, because he started a mad dash toward Mori (Kyouya, being the intelligent man he is, let go of the leash before his arm was yanked off).

The puppies didn't even budge as she set them on the bench beside her; they'd fallen asleep in the taxi.

Closing her eyes with a sigh, Haruhi shivered beneath Mori's heavy jacket.

"More of them?"

Her eyes snapped open at the amused tone, then traveled – from abdomen, to chest, to chin, to the eyes looking straight at three innocently sleeping puppies.

"What?"

"Them," he clarified, turning to frown at the huge (and it really was _huge_) Dalmatian nuzzling up against Mori. "Those. That."

"Puppies?"

"Yes, those."

"What about them?" she asked intelligently, blinking sleepiness away from her eyes. Now that she was sitting down and the puppies weren't alternately licking, chewing or plain chomping at her, she was _tired_.

"He found more of them?" Kyouya leaned down slightly and took her chin in his hand, brushing dirt from her cheek. "You're tired."

Haruhi found, for the second time, a blush heating her cheeks. He had never really touched her before – oh, he had brushed against her in hallways or had a hand on her shoulder to get her attention before, but _this_ – this was new.

Thinking about it, holding Mori's hand during their whole walk had been rather new, too.

She felt an odd tangle emotions curl in her stomach. "I didn't get any sleep," Haruhi finally muttered, and jerked her chin out of his hand.

"Hmm." He straightened. "Are you hungry?"

"Sleepy," she replied in an almost snappish tone. But Haruhi, being Haruhi, never snaps, and so it came out more like a reminder than anything else.

"You can get some sleep at the house, then." He raised his voice slightly. "Takashi, can you take Haruhi home? I have a meeting, but I should be back for lunch."

She yawned delicately behind her hand and snuggled a little deeper into the jacket.

"Oh, and Haruhi—"

She stiffened, and the welcoming warmth seemed to run away with his words.

"—the paperwork is on the kitchen table, so please sign it, will you? I'll turn it in tonight."

She'd forgotten about that.

"Oh, and I'll need your bank account number." Haruhi looked at him suspiciously, and he smiled – a real, amused smile, completely at her expense. "I'm sure the contents of your bank will hardly interest me, but I _do_ need to pay you."

Oh, right. He was _paying_ her.

Haruhi wondered if she should feel used, decided that she probably should but was far too tired to do so at this current time, and asked the question that had bugged her all morning. "Are you really fine with marrying someone you don't love?"

Kyouya smiled slowly, and abruptly he looked different – seductive, sexy, and altogether all those clichéd words she'd heard other girls use. "Who said I didn't love you?"

She hesitated, completely thrown off balance and unsure of why – exactly – she had nervous butterflies in her stomach. "You do?"

"Did I say I did?"

Oh. "Well, then..."

"Haruhi." He tipped her chin up once again, and he still had that smile and all those mysteries behind it. "We both chose you."

_Oh._

Her stomach flipped a little, then dipped as Mori's arms came over the back of the bench to wrap around her loosely. "We would never marry someone we didn't love, Haruhi."

She glanced over her shoulder – Mori had that same look in his eyes, that intensity that she couldn't _quite_ grasp – and back at Kyouya, whose eyes were a little shuttered and whose lips were still slightly curved.

"I-I'm not your customer," she blurted, completely breaking the mood.

Kyouya stared at her for a moment, then laughed in a way she'd only seen once before – real and loud and spontaneous.

Mori's arms were still gently draped over her shoulders, and he pressed a light kiss against her head. She blinked, unsure of how to react. "Haruhi is our wife," he explained simply.

"So I'm a sort of glorified customer?"

Both men looked at each other – _So this is how it's going to be_ – then back down at her.

"I suppose you could say that," Kyouya replied, deciding that it would be far too hard to explain just yet.

Haruhi pondered this for a moment, feeling ridiculous out of touch with reality and unable to claw her way back. "I don't have to _pay_ anything, do I...?" Hesitant and a bit worried.

"Not after you sign the papers, no."

"Oh."


	5. Poetry

**Disclaimer:** No ownage of Host Club.  
**Chapter Edit:** Complete 2/15/07

»»»  
**Chapter Five**  
_Poetry_  
»»»

Haruhi signed the papers, half-asleep at eight in the morning and just barely returned from her little walk. It mostly gave her little shivers of trepidation mixed in with _some_ measure of relief to put everything in Kyouya's hand, but at least she could finally sleep instead of worrying over whether or not she did the right thing. Now it was just whether or not she would survive the rest of her life.

Unfortunately, just because the papers were signed didn't mean everything was moving smoothly. She found this out the next morning when movers were there ready to pack up her things and get them to the new house; she dragged her heels stubbornly and sent them back, saying that she would not move on such short notice.

Kyouya came by that night and pointed out that, as a married couple, they really should be living together. Haruhi replied that while she understood, she wasn't quite ready to leave just yet and she hadn't even been able to talk to her father over the living arrangements.

She felt some satisfaction again when he left, though the argument was far from over. Even so, it was an argument she was winning by default, because she was still in her own home when she went to sleep that night.

Days segued into weeks and Haruhi packed very slowly as her father began to have third and fourth thoughts about the entire thing. What about his family? Have you met them yet? Will they actually accept his choice of bride? What if they bully you?

Well, we should have thought of that earlier, she replied simply. It's all said and done now, and we can't change it, can we?

He didn't seem to like that answer and unpacked everything that she had set carefully into boxes, and when Mori came over that night he gave her a slightly disappointed look and said slowly that if she didn't want to live with them, he could probably talk to Kyouya.

Haruhi finished packing then and there while guilt kept her company, and wondered again why she was the one to feel guilty when they were the ones who turned her life upside down.

» » »

"You live _here_?"

Haruhi's blurted question was, when she thought about it, really quite rude. After all, why wouldn't rich people stay in the type of house that would have nice owners and nice little children with Hello Kitty shoes and Spiderman caps and a cute little dog chasing its tail in the yard while a cat watched disdainfully from the living room windowsill? And it was, really, a cozy (if suprisingly small) house in a decent part of town, complete with a brick wall carefully enclosing the neatly-clipped front yard and a simple white gate opening the way to the paved path leading to the front door.

It also completely didn't seem to suit the two men, and she continued to stare at it blankly, not quite able to muster up the courage to get out of the taxi.

The driver coughed and Haruhi reluctantly scooted out of the seat and onto the sidewalk, feeling as though something were wrong. "How long have you two been here?" she asked hesitantly as he paid the driver and took the bags out of the trunk.

"Two years." He paused, frowning as she loitered uncertainly. "Do you dislike it?"

"No, not at all. I just thought it was... surprising."

"He didn't like it at first." Mori lightly kicked the gate open - it apparently didn't latch - and dragged the suitcases behind him. Haruhi followed suit, looking curiously at the gnome statues in the yard (they were worn and the paint was peeling). She wasn't sure she wanted to ask where they came from; this little corner of their lives was like a structured type of normal.

When stepping into the house, the oddity of _normal_ and _everyday_ of the outside mostly disappeared. Even to her untrained eyes, the rugs were expensive and the paintings lining the hallway were probably done by famous artists. Then there was the beige carpet - it _had_ to get dirty regularly, yet it was perfectly pristine, almost begging her to drop a cup of tea.

She wondered light-headedly if all rich people lived in surroundings like this - the couch in the living room had her wanting to curl up on it and sleep the day away, even if there was an oversized teddy bear occupying it. When Mori disappeared with her meager belongings (she assumed in the direction of her bedroom), Haruhi fought the urge to tiptoe over and try it out and trudged behind him instead. A glance at the kitchen had her fingers twitching with the urge to cook.

"Cat," Mori tossed over his shoulder, and she tripped over the kitten who came to wind around her ankles.

"Thanks for the warning," Haruhi muttered, and picked up the snuggly kitten (it licked her fingers happily), somehow unsurprised when another cat followed behind her curiously. Part of her wondered where the puppies were; the house wasn't _that_ big, and she hadn't even heard a sneeze out of them.

"Dog," he announced this time, and she was ready for him, her eyes scanning the ground before she tripped over the puppies.

When she passed the bathroom (she didn't notice it, still carefully looking) a nudge at her hip nearly knocked her off balance and the cat following her hissed in irritation. The kitten dug its claws into her hand and Haruhi looked down at the huge dog Kyouya had walked a few weeks ago. Its tail was wagging and she could swear it looked proud of its ambush.

"Thanks for the warning," she said, a little louder this time. Mori's shoulder twitched, and she thought he was amused by the probably terse tone of her voice.

"Watch out," he said this time, and she braced her free hand against the wall as he opened the bedroom door. What would it be this time? The puppies?

Apparently not.

She eyed the cat warily as it stood in the doorway like a king, looking at her dubiously and giving a loud yowl of dissatisfaction.

"It hates Kyouya, too," Mori explained, leaning down and scooping it up before dragging the suitcases into the room.

Haruhi gave a nervous laugh as the dog impatiently herded her into the room, his nose bumping against the small of her back. She glanced over her shoulder. "What's this guy's name?"

Mori peered back out from behind the door. "Big," he replied, as though surprised she asked.

"Oh." Well, that made sense. Then she blinked and looked around carefully, thinking she finally realized what had bothered her so badly. "Mori-senpai... how many rooms are there?"

"One."

"Then I'm sleeping...?"

"Here."

"And you are sleeping...?"

"Here," he continued patiently.

"And Kyouya-senpai is...?" she asked faintly, feeling almost light-headed.

"Here."

She stared at him silently as he simply stared back, then stepped past him and turned on the light. She looked dubiously at the bed. "Do you think that'll be big enough for the three of us?"

He pondered it, then gave off an aura of shrugging without actually moving a muscle. "It's warm."

"Whose idea was this?" she asked suspiciously, and he gave her an odd look.

"This house only has one room," he pointed out again, and she snapped her mouth shut. He was, after all, _right_.

Deciding to give up on that point - she knew that Kyouya would mention again that they were _married_, and that _married couples_ often slept together and there should be no problem in that aspect - she said instead, "We need a bigger bed, Mori-senpai."

He was silent for a moment (certainly not unusual), before saying firmly, "Takashi." (This was the unusual part.)

"What?"

"Takashi," he repeated, and she could almost swear that he sounded stubborn.

"Takashi-senpai?"

"Takashi."

"...Takashi?"

He smiled.

» » »

Kyouya's mother, being an infinitely loving parent and quite interested in her son's rather unusual love life, held no qualms about sneakily following him to the bookstore downtown where he would probably never usually enter on his own.

And so she snuck up behind him as he ran a finger across the spines of various poetry anthologies and suggested cheerfully, "Try Byron, next section down. He's quite the famous English poet, and girls seem to love him."

Kyouya, being Kyouya, didn't jump - but he did look over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. "I was wondering when you were going to announce your presence."

Her shoulders slumped a little. "You knew I was following?"

"When you're using one of the family cars to do so, it's a pretty easy connection to make." He finally moved down to the next section she had so helpfully mentioned and grabbed the rather ostentatious looking book with BYRON on the side, flipping through it and saying absently, "Takashi thinks we should do something to make her feel at home, and he seemed to think you were right about poetry." _Lord only knows why_, his tone added.

"Her? Haruhi? Oh, Kyouya, don't tell me she's already moving in with you?" Her rather disappointed tone and sharp frown was lost on her son, who was looking at a particular bit of prosey passage dubiously. "You'll be absolutely ruining the poor girl."

"The papers were signed a while ago and I've handed them to the proper - Mother, who recommended this man to you?"

Distracted, she peered at the book cautiously. "I read his works myself, dear. Is there something wrong?"

Wondering if he should be horrified or amused, he flipped through the pages. "'_One shade the more, one shade the less/had half impaired the nameless grace/which waves in every waven tress/or softly lightens o'er her face_'?"

"That," she announced firmly, "is not Lord Byron."

He glanced at the book again and replied dryly, "It seems it is, Mother."

"No it _isn't_," she insisted, grabbing it out of his hands, glaring at it heatedly and turning the pages in rapid motions, her head shaking in disbelief. "This is _not_ Byron. What do they think they're doing to the poor man?"

A nearby worker, who _had_ been on his way to ask if they needed help, pretended he had actually just come to straighten a shelf farther away from them instead. Kyouya couldn't really blame him.

"Look at this, Kyou-chan. Just _look_! What happened to '_love comforteth like sunshine after rain_'? What happened to '_O, how this spring of love resembleth/the uncertain glory of an April day_'? Darling, something _must_ be done about this." She held up the offending book with shaking hands and quoted, "'_Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life_'? Measles, sweetheart, he mentions _measles_."

The sheer disgust in her voice had Kyouya smiling blandly as he answered his phone on the first ring. "Yes, Haruhi?" (His mother paused in the middle of her tirade and listened in shamelessly.) "No, we don't. Is there a problem?" (The light of amusement in his eyes that never revealed itself in his words had her scooting a little closer, the book almost forgotten in her hands.) "We can always get a larger bed, if that's the only problem." (Her brows snapped together as she recalled that he hadn't quite answered her question earlier.) "Well, then, we can take the dresser out of the room. I'll find something and have them deliver it today. Was that all?" (Her arms crossed and one finger tapped at the cover of the horrible anthology of fake Byron's poems impatiently.) "I'll see you when I get home tonight, then." He snapped the phone closed and looked at his mother as though politely curious. "Yes?"

"What was that about, darling?"

"They were worried that the bed would be too small for the three of us." He slipped the phone back into his pocket and waved the poor, eavesdropping employee over imperiously. "We'll take this."

Her jaw dropped in shock. "Kyou-chan, you can't _possibly_ think to read these to the poor girl!"

"Why not? I thought it would be a great wedding present from her mother-in-law."

"You are _not_ blaming that infernal _thing_ on - what? Mother-in-law?"

"Then I'll pay for it, I suppose?" Kyouya nearly sauntered to the cash register, handing over a bill and smiling as his mother continued to splutter behind him.

"You _married_ her? Already? Are you serious, Kyouya? How long has - when did you decide - _Kyouya, are you listening to me?_"

He pocketed the change - all coins - and walked out the door with the dubious prize. "I figure the two of you could have a wonderful chat on the subject of Byron's poetry, actually. She's quite well-learned, and she might even know a thing or two about the subject."

"Don't change the subject on me!" She hurried behind him, grabbing onto his arm, feeling both greatly disappointed in her son and completely excited. "Does this mean I get to meet her?"

Deciding not to mention that she went _along_ with the change in subject, he smiled down at her. "Did you want me to send your car home, or will you be following behind?"

» » »

Haruhi slid to the floor in a boneless heap, her arms shaking from effort and her knee stinging from where she'd bumped into the table. But the dresser - finally - was _almost _out of the room and although she couldn't get past it to the other side of the hallway (where, she thought wistfully, all the water was) that would be fixed as soon as Mori - _Takashi_, she reminded herself - came back anyway. All that was left to do now was--

She frowned as something thudded against the hallway closet door, and looked around with a wary sense of _oh, no_.

Mori had disappeared somewhere between the last time she'd seen him and now, and was - apparently - knocking politely as if to say, _Do get me out of here when you have time. No rush_.

Oops.

"Mo - er, Takashi?" she called hesitantly, though she knew full well who was behind that door.

She knew he was nodding, not that she could actually _see_ it. Blowing out a sigh, she looked at the dresser balefully. It was the root of all evil, it was _heavy_, she had no one to help her move it, and her arms and legs were in the process of dying after shoving it two inches across the carpet. "What are you doing in there?"

"Pictures," came his muffled answer, and she nodded like the word actually explained anything.

"Right. Okay. Why didn't you let me know why you were there?"

"Pictures," he repeated, and she nodded again.

"All right, pictures it is. Hold on just a minute?" She blew out a breath and pushed her hair out of her face, thinking that she should probably cut it again. Haruhi had let it grow during college because she'd had no time to actually get things like haircuts, but now the length was getting irritating. "I think I need help, senpai."

She thought she could hear a few thumps and crackling before he answered with, "Bed."

The doorbell rang, and she started to seriously wonder if he had some sort of ability to see the future. "How did you know they were coming?"

Pause. "The sound of the truck."

_Ah._ That was a rather mundane way of finding out. Then again, _Haruhi_ hadn't heard a truck...

The doorbell rang again and she shouted desperately, "The door's open!" Then, as she heard them shuffling into the house uncertainly, she added, "I'm behind the big dresser in the hallway."

"Ah," the as-yet-unseen movers said. "Did you need some help with that?"

"Yes, please. My friend--"

And from the closet came a surprisingly loud, "_Husband_."

They heard the woman sigh and looked in puzzlement at each other, because wasn't her husband the man who was still at the store picking out a couch that they would deliver tomorrow? Then, shrugging with a philosophical _we're so not involved_, plastered on their impassive faces when she amended, "I'm sorry. My _husband_ is trapped in the closet, and I can't move this thing to let him out."

They were also polite enough not to ask _why_, on God's green (and blue) earth, he was stuck in a closet of all places instead of helping his wife (possibly) with moving a dresser - though they would probably chat with coworkers later about this bizarre delivery.

» » »

Haruhi was stuck.

It was almost like payback for essentially locking Mori - _Takashi_ - into the closet earlier. She was sure of it, so she didn't even wriggle too much when her feet were starting to tingle and her back was starting to cramp.

Even so, she really wished Mori hadn't fallen asleep on her while she was all curled up on the couch and surfing through the photo album that had temporarily cost him his freedom that day. It wasn't because of anything like embarrassment; she simply desperately wanted to go to the bathroom, and was far too tired to struggle out from beneath his dead weight.

Then again, she _really_ needed to go to the bathroom.

» » »

"You really didn't _have_ to buy that much, did you?" Kyouya looked at the bags practically sprouting from his mother's arms, feeling once again that women were incredibly strange creatures and silently thankful that Haruhi didn't quite seem to have the same obsession with shopping. "You haven't even _met_ her yet, and now you're going to be meeting her in what is essentially the middle of the night."

She frowned at her son in annoyance. "Darling, do you honestly think I can go up to my new daughter-in-law without giving her a little something? We already know that she's going to have a hell of a time when your father hears about this. Not to mention the papers! And will you _please_ carry some of these?"

He looked down at the boxes he was trying to keep from falling to the ground and asked dryly, "Isn't this enough? I can barely get my keys." Then he was silent for a moment, before "Ah, got it open."

"Wonderful." His mother breezed past him excitedly. "Takashi? Takashi, dear, do help with--"

Pause.

"Oh, dear. Are we intruding?"

» » »

Haruhi blinked up at the strange woman who had come parading into the living room cheerfully bearing gifts. First she thought faintly, _It's not Christmas_, and then wondered, _Is that Kyouya behind all those boxes?_

Instead of giving her thoughts voice, Haruhi said faintly, "No, but I could use a hand," and went back to staring up at the ceiling. Somehow, while trying _very hard_ to wriggle out from beneath Takashi's weight, she'd tumbled off the couch with him landing on top of her in a rather awkward position while _still_ sleeping.

He apparently slept like a rock.

"Do you have some water over there?" Kyouya asked curiously, apparently unperturbed by the entire situation.

"Excuse me?"

"I suppose not. Mother, where did you want these?"

"In the kitchen, darling..." Then, lowering her voice, whispered, "Are they always like that?"

"She just moved in today, actually." Kyouya carefully made his way around his mother, eyeing the boxes that threatened to fall. "I think there might be some cold water in the fridge somewhere."

"Why water?" they asked in unison, curious despite themselves. Mother- and daughter-in-law looked at each other and smiled tentatively.

"You want me to wake him up, don't you?"

"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with--" Haruhi began.

"I'll need it," he explained patiently, in a way that made absolutely no sense at all. Kyouya very carefully began divesting himself of the various packages, setting them one by one on the couch. "I'll get him up in a moment."

She asked politely then, "Could it be a very fast moment? I think he's crushing my lung."

"You don't want to rush this, trust me."


	6. Home

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Host Club or characters, nor am I making money out of this.  
**Comments:** It's been a while. Sorry? Anyway, yeah. Dawn's definitely turning out to be a huge sequence of flashfic/drabbles rather than a real story. Oh, well. Very little Takashi bits in this.

»»»  
**Chapter Six**  
_Home_  
»»»

Haruhi craned her neck in an almost painful manner, almost reminding Kyouya's mother of some sort of stork or – well, crane. Craning necks tended to do that, reminding people of cranes. "Dearest," she began hesitantly, glass of water now in hand, "What exactly do you intend to do with this?"

"Nothing too terribly traumatizing – but I must ask you to vacate the room for the time being, Mother." After setting aside the various boxes (some of which seemed to hold perfume, Haruhi noticed, like that invisible cloud of too many scents used in one shower setting) he began to shrug off his suit jacket, looking remarkably casual for a man so conservatively dressed.

"Are you saying you want me to leave? That's quite rude, as I have yet to formally meet my daughter-in-law."

"Mother, this is hardly the time." Unbuttoning his cuffs, he added pointedly, "I would hate to call my own parent a voyeur."

"Voyeur?!" She nearly squeaked the word, but – with a glance at the daughter-in-law she still had yet to impress with her grace and poise and general lovingness – his mother straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat politely. "I'll head home, then. Do give me a call tomorrow, then, darling."

"Of course, Mother. Haruhi would be delighted to meet you more properly then."

"I'd be delighted," the Haruhi in question echoed, fighting the urge to sigh over the blatant decision made for her.

"Well, then. Do pardon my rudeness for leaving so early tonight, my dear, and I will see you in the afternoon. We'll have tea and chat away from these barbarians."

"She seems very nice," Haruhi offered when his mother finally left, staring up at the ceiling as he tossed his shirt to the couch.

"She is."

"I can't always call her Kyouya's mother. What should I call her?" Haruhi grunted as Mori's elbow smacked into her side when he shifted his weight just slightly.

"Yazuko." He was close, because she could smell his cologne.

Out of her peripheral vision she could see him kneeling beside her, reaching over to run his fingers lightly over Mori's hair. _Takashi's_, she reminded herself absently. "So what's your plan?"

He laughed softly, and she felt suddenly like a mouse caught in a very, very bad trap. "I don't have one."

Right. Kyouya-senpai, the one glued to his computer and having a mind dedicated to strategy and schemes, was admitting to her that he had no plan. No plan for something as simple as waking up his lover, who he'd been living with for she didn't even know how long now. "It's hard to breathe," she reminded him after long moments of quiet.

"He sleeps like a child when he's tired," Kyouya explained without prodding, reaching over to grab at one big shoulder and tug until some of the pressure was relieved from her chest. "It's pretty much impossible to wake him."

"So the water is for what, exactly?"

He smiled blandly, leaning just slightly over her. "Just in case you got thirsty."

"And I'm supposed to drink that _how_?"

"Oh, there are always ways."

» » »

"You're expecting me to quote Shakespeare?" she huffed, plainly irritated even as she wriggled under the dead weight of Takashi's arm. For whatever reason he'd finally rolled over to sprawl on the floor, but he had kept his arm around her as though to keep her from running away.

And now Kyouya was laying on her other side, _his_ arm curled comfortably over her hips as he gave her the outrageous request of quoting English poetry. In English, even. And they still weren't in bed, and it had to be at least three in the morning by now.

"I thought it would be interesting to know what you _thought_ of Shakespeare," he backpedaled admirably, tossing a leg over both of hers to keep her from squiggling about like a mouse in a trap. She scowled at him as her back twinged a little.

"You just bought that ridiculously huge _trap_ of a bed, and we're not even going to move there?"

"What does the bed have to do with Shakespeare?"

"What does Shakespeare have to do with keeping us on the floor?!"

» » »

"It's big," he noted absently, typing away on his laptop with little concern.

"You bought it," she snapped, tugging at Takashi's arm until he moved more towards the center of the bed.

"You wanted a bigger one." He frowned at figures that flashed on his screen and clicked the mouse twice in a way that sounded oddly decisive.

"I want another _room_."

» » »

The alarm went off at six-oh-seven, and turned off at six-oh-seven and two seconds.

Haruhi watched as Kyouya immediately rolled out of bed, grabbing his glasses in one swift movement. "Good morning."

She groaned and rolled over onto the space he vacated, bitterly thinking about how for her it was still _good night_. She hadn't had a single minute of sleep, and he'd had less than an hour. "Are you going to work?"

"I'm taking a shower first. Did you want to get breakfast started while Takashi wakes up?"

"Breakfast?" Very slowly, she pushed herself to her elbows and looked over at the dead lump on the other side of the bed. "Is he _going_ to wake up?"

"He'll wake up to the smell of fresh coffee."

» » »

Haruhi found the task of cooking fish to be an incredibly difficult one when Takashi was glued to her back, watching intently.

She also found the sight of Kyouya drinking morning coffee while reading the paper to be incredibly irritating, especially after his admission of one simple, easy way to wake Takashi from deep slumber. _No plan_ indeed.

"Do you like fish, Mori-sen—Takashi?" she asked, wondering how it was easy to refer to him by name in her mind when her lips couldn't quite grasp it.

"Not particularly." Yet he stayed so close she could feel the warmth of his chest at her back, eyes glued to the stovetop.

"He's never managed to do anything other than burn the fish," Kyouya finally explained, dissolving the mystery from her mind.

_Oh._

» » »

"I thought you were going to work?" She'd hesitated all morning to ask that question, with Kyouya comfortably esconced in his favorite chair and Takashi having disappeared two hours prior.

"I am working." It was the first time he'd talked since breakfast, and Haruhi found herself startled that he answered at all and wondering what, exactly, he did for a living.

But she kept that question to herself as she began folding the laundry she'd brought in from the backyard, realizing as she did so how different the sizes were between her father and her husband. Husbands?

_Singular or plural? Husband or husbands?_

"Is this yours?" She held up a pair of jeans expectantly.

"Takashi's," he replied after a single glance.

"Oh." She smoothed it out carefully and set down as the beginning of the Takashi pile. Resolving to be better able to figure out who was who, Haruhi inspected the next item – a white button-down shirt – carefully. _Kyouya's,_ she decided immediately, and set it aside in the Kyouya's to-be-ironed pile.

"That's Takashi's, too."

"Oh." Well, it was now the Takashi's to-be-ironed pile.

"We have someone who comes and does the housework and laundry, Haruhi. You're not expected to take care of that." He was finally distracted from that laptop of his, giving her his full attention.

She stared back and said the first thing that came to her mind. "Isn't that an extreme waste of money?"

» » »

Kyouya had given her a few dubious looks when she said that she would cook dinner, but eventually gave in after one small conversation.

"We typically go out for dinner," he said, looking over her grocery list.

"Isn't that an extreme waste of money?" she asked for the second time that morning.

"Well, then, I'll have my driver go out and pick up whatever you need." Kyouya frowned. "But you shouldn't feel obligated to cook."

"Isn't that an extreme waste—"

"Well, what are you expecting?" Having already dismissed the issue, he returned to his laptop to do whatever he normally did.

"I'll go to the store," she announced, feeling excited at the prospect of getting out for some fresh air.

Immediately that laptop was closed and he was standing beside her, grabbing the list out of her hands. "We'll go together."

» » »

The vegetables were finely cut and placed into separate bowls as she carefully rinsed the large pot she'd had Kyouya buy an hour earlier. One of the biggest problems with the kitchen – beyond being on the small scale the rest of the house was built upon – was that they had very little to cook with. Her grocery list had taken care of that.

"Isn't it a little early to be setting up for dinner?" Kyouya asked, back on his laptop but now having relocated to the kitchen.

"This is lunch. Your mother _is_ coming over for lunch, isn't she?"

Lean fingers paused in the midst of typing, and he looked at the phone with a frown. "I haven't called her yet."


	7. Everyday Simplicity

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Host Club or characters, want no money, have no money.  
**Comments:** ... Let's not talk about how it takes me over a year to update. I forgot the point of this story. I SUCK. Just shoot me now and let it be over with.

»»»**  
Chapter Seven  
**_Everyday Simplicity_  
»»»

It was under Haruhi's watchful eye that Kyouya reluctantly picked up his phone. It wasn't as though he disliked calling his mother - he simply thought it was too much trouble for the small effort of having her officially meet Haruhi, and if he were really asked any opinion, he'd rather none of his family have anything to do with her. She was seperate from them, easily settled into the category of personal instead of business, in which category his family firmly entrenched itself.

His dearest wife reminded him of that quite incidently when she asked, as though the idea just occurred to her - as it probably had, "She won't have a problem with the menu, will she?"

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If Kyouya were a fanciful man, he would consider his mother as more of a whirlwind or force of nature than any sort of maternal personality. His father, too, would be a force of nature, but with less whirlwind and more tsunami thrown in. Unfortunately, Kyouya is not a fanciful man. Oh, he has dreams - many dreams! - and is as loathe as any other to throw them away needlessly, but he is not gifted with the art of poetry. He can fake the art of poetry, with well-calculated oratory skill, but he cannot create poetry that makes hearts tremble and skin shiver with the wonder of words and whispers.

His mother often thought it a pity, really, because all artful appreciation had disappeared once her husband's blood had entered into her family. She thought a trifle wistfully of her brother, an artist - never a painter, because a painter implies such vulgar methods as graffiti and starvation and half-finished sketches on a sidewalk - but a _creator_, a living example of the divine. With a brush (and some paint) he could create people and worlds, and--

"... madame."

"What?" Hardly irritated at the interruption of her daydreams, for interruptions were frequent and quite normal considering that she half-lived in them during the times that she had no business to attend to, she lifted a hand for the message to be repeated. One of the servants - some silly little name, Izumi or Mizuki or Popo for all she knew - duly repeated that the youngest master was on the line and did she wish to speak with him. "Of course," she half-snapped then, impatience flurrying the papers on her desk into unseemly piles just as her extension rang. "Yes?" she answered smoothly, all cultured and cool and elegant once again, as though her moment of daydreaming had never occurred.

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Kyouya had an exasperated sort of resignation to his mother's flighty personality. He knew that within her there was the mother of her children, the same lady who loved ridiculous poetry and daydreamed at odd hours of day, and also within her there was Madame Ootori, her husband's wife. Behind that silly almost-mask was a very intelligent mind, yet that mask was not truly a mask for it was her true personality as well.

So he ignored it, forgot to remind his wife of it, and learned quickly that it was a rather stupid thing to forget about when his mother settled in to a welcoming little lunch of rice, miso soup, a couple broiled fish and a spicy beansprout dish that Haruhi had mentioned was a Korean recipe and he had become rather fond of.

His mother's face was simple enough to read, but Haruhi was busy settling the last bowl of soup next to her own bowl of rice and was quite too busy to see the snobbery raising its ugly head at their family table. So he did what any good husband would do.

He stared at his mother until she looked up and flushed and realized that she was behaving with horrible manners indeed, then stared longer until she also realized that, no matter what else happened today, she would have no chance to lecture the new addition to their household on the little things of their household - like hiring chefs who would make an outrageous amount of food for three people at lunch. An outrageous amount of food that certainly wouldn't be limited to such choices as homemade miso soup and simple broiled fish. So she did what any good mother in her situation would do.

She talked about Lord Byron, and it was all very civilized, and she was getting quite comfortable after she insisted that her daughter-in-law not call her Yazuko and why not call her mother instead and my, the fish was well-seasoned and it was quite tasty and could she have the recipe, and she talked about Lord Byron some more.

Then, for some odd reason, Haruhi had to ruin it all and inform her quite gravely that the Lord Byron she was speaking of was in fact called Shakespeare.

Really! It wasn't as though she, Ootori Yazuko, had not gone through quite a bit of education herself.

But then that ridiculous son of hers had to side with his wife and it was not going at all well indeed, and they had to bring a couple books to her, and--

"Oh," she said in a rather curious voice, all the indignation of the past two and a half hours disappearing quite suddenly. "How novel. What ghastly prose Lord Byron uses!"

"It all depends on taste, really," Haruhi said simply, closing the various books and setting them to the side. "Did you want some more tea, Mother?"

"That would be wonderful, dear," she approved with a smile. Really, her son had married such a charming young girl, and intelligent, too. She would have to keep her husband from doing something silly like disapproving of them when he found out. Honestly, her husband was a great businessman, but he could be so silly in these little matters. It wasn't as if he had plenty of other children that had married the way he wanted them to, sometimes against her own disagreement!

And as she thought these protective little thoughts, Kyouya thought that everything was working quite as planned, indeed.

» » »

Takashi was enjoying the idea of coming home.

Of course he had always enjoyed the idea of coming home. It was not a novel thing, really, and he had ample time to get used to it since he and Kyouya had made their own little corner in the world. But home had not, until now, brought home thoughts of an efficiently run kitchen, where he could go into and watch where things happened and food come out the other end, never charred and always smelling like a home kind of meal.

And then three people would sit around their table and eat that home kind of meal, and it was very homey indeed.

So he was enjoying the idea of coming home, this new type of coming home that seemed to add levels upon levels to his old type of coming home, and he walked through the streets with a happy sort of stride.

Most people who let him pass through thought he seemed dreadfully imposing and in a bit of a hurry and that there weren't enough places to hide in case his temper decided to boil over if their shoulders touched. Takashi was fully aware that this was what they thought, and normally dwelled on that sort of thinking, because he is an innately kind person and likes people.

But his steps remained light and his demeanor excited and he knew that there were three people in this world that would understand at a glance how he felt.

Then he stopped in the middle of the street in consternation and pulled his phone out of his pocket and called a number in panic.

"Yes?" that wonderful voice said in his ear, and he blurted it all out, everything, and she understood.

"Mitsukuni."

Granted, no one would have recognized the depth of his panic from that one name and the slow and deliberate way it tore from his throat, but Haruhi said simply, "I suppose we did forget about him. How about you invite him for dinner tomorrow night?"

He nodded, and never thought that she couldn't see that through the phone. But she went on, as always somehow _knowing_ that he nodded, and added, "Kyouya's mother just left, but did you want me to have some food ready? She missed you being there."

He nodded again and once again threaded through people and streets, phone plastered to his ear, and if his face was impassive, his eyes were practically glowing and he felt for all the world like a little kid with a whole jar of candy.


End file.
